When pain enters pain it creates light
illuminates the very pale soul
we look into each other’s eyes without illusions
memories carry our destinies away from the sad station.

In bitter pride
when oases call oases
flocked fingers give birth to healthy warmth
more solid than the belief in God.

The river, the wood died young before
their names are now on our lips
do you believe they can bring up our self-pitying souls
to find the way home?

When joy dissolves in pain breaking sunlight
I bring the grain gathered from distance
to sow on my village field.
you multiply the folk-song into new melodies
the field echoes the language good harvest.

Translated by Phan Nhien Hao.